In Harm's Way (16 page)

He had to save her. Once Somers found out where the disk was, he'd kill her for sure.

“She got the disk with her?” Kick asked.

“Disk?” Mitch muttered. How did Kick know about that? Had he mentioned the disk? Should have maybe. But no, he hadn't. Mitch's mind cleared a little as he mentally swept away the cobwebs building in his brain.

“You're fading out on me, aren't you?” Kick asked.

“Not even close,” Mitch told him, forcing his eyes to remain open and alert. Sheer anger at Kick's possible betrayal gave him strength.

“Why don't you put that away before it goes off? You're too damned shaky.” Kick's short laugh sounded nervous. “You don't need to worry. I'm armed. I'll take care of things when we get there.”

“Better keep it handy,” Mitch said. He renewed his grip on the weapon and focused determinedly on Kick.

The drive seemed to last forever and the pain escalated with every bump in the road. Mitch prayed for strength. And he prayed even harder that he was mistaken about the suspicion that had suddenly grabbed him like a pit bull and wouldn't let go.

Mitch blocked out the pain as best he could and tried to concentrate on whether the suspicion was founded. Maybe he was in shock and that was causing paranoia. Getting shot could probably do that. Did he have enough reason to confront Kick and demand some answers? Now was not the time, but he couldn't afford to trust Kick at this point, either.

He used to work Vice. That would have thrown him into proximity with Somers at one time or another. Was Kick on the take? On Somers's payroll? It would explain Kick's wealth and Somers's brilliant success at avoiding arrest.

That could not have been Kick trying to get into Sandy's apartment that first day. But he could have phoned someone to go there, knowing it would take Mitch a while to get home from the precinct. Also, no one but Kick had known exactly where they would be when Robin's purse was stolen in the coffee shop.

It was possible that Somers had them followed, or by some stroke of luck had picked them up in transit. Mitch remembered thinking how improbable that had been, but hadn't seen any other way it could have happened. And Kick could easily have slipped Robin's suitcase and laptop out of Andrews's apartment before Mitch had gotten there that night.

As for the diner incident, Hunford might have told Kick Mitch was taking Robin home with him. Kick knew Mitch always stopped to eat there after he pulled night shift. He could have alerted Somers. Suddenly that was the only thing that made any sense.

If not for the purse theft and the thief going after Robin, Mitch would have given Kick the disk that day. Kick should have told Somers to wait until Mitch handed it over. But if Mitch was right and Kick had turned, he obviously wasn't calling the shots.

It was time to decide. Kick had parked to one side of the unlit driveway leading from the main highway up to Somers's house.

The pseudocolonial monstrosity looked cold and forbidding in the moonlight. The mansion was isolated by the wide sweep of manicured acreage surrounding it. Kick had parked far enough away that the noise of their arrival wouldn't alert anyone. And far enough that walking the distance would sap Mitch's flagging strength even further.

Mitch didn't know for sure this was where Somers was holding Robin. It could be anywhere, a warehouse downtown, a cabin in the woods, a deserted landing on the river. But Somers had no immediate family and no reason to avoid doing business at home. Taking Robin elsewhere would only make things more complicated than necessary for him. Mitch figured Somers would have instructed his men bring Robin directly to him. And this is where he was most of the time, reveling in his ill-gotten wealth.

Maybe Kick had been thinking along these same lines, but they had not discussed it. Why hadn't he questioned where they were going or if Mitch had overheard anything about where the kidnappers had taken Robin? Not a word.

He looked at his partner, realizing too late that his expression had given him away.

“You know, don't you?” Kick asked with a fatalistic shrug.

“Guessed,” Mitch admitted. He had been holding the pistol trained on Kick all this time. “Somers got something on you?”

“In a way. I'm in over my head, Mitch. He goes down, I go down.”

Mitch sighed. What now?

Kick turned to him. “Look, I was trying to get that disk without you or the woman getting hurt. I told him how it would be if they shot a cop. Every badge in Nashville would be on their asses in a heartbeat. If you'd have turned the thing over to me, they would never have come after it. Why the hell didn't you just give it to me, Mitch?”

“Did you kill Andrews tryin' to get it?”

Kick looked horrified. “God, no! You know me better than that! At least I hope you do. It was Billy Ray. He's real excitable. I know Somers was pissed at him afterward.”

“How deep are you in this? You liable for anything else? Destruction of evidence on the homicide?”

“Somers wanted me on call that night. If anything went down he said I was just supposed to get the disk. That's all. I don't even know what was on the damned thing, and I don't want to know.”

So that's how Kick had happened to be on call that night. Somers planned to get that disk and then ice Andrews. A homicide detective on the scene would have been mighty convenient. If Mitch hadn't shown up, Robin would have wound up charged with the murder. Or dead.

Mitch made a decision. He couldn't very well stop in the middle of this and haul Kick in on conspiracy to commit murder. He couldn't even subdue him at the moment.

“Help me save Robin. After that, I'll do whatever I can for you. Hell, you can even claim you were stringing Somers along, doing a little undercover off the record. If you don't put a good spin on it right now, tonight, this is murder and kidnapping and you're an accessory. Think about it.”

Kick blew out a breath and leaned his head back on the
headrest. “Yeah. Okay. You're right. I know you're right. This is my only chance.”

“Did you call for backup or did you alert Somers?” Mitch asked him.

“I called in help, man. You heard me do it,” Kick insisted, looking outraged that Mitch would even question it.

Mitch knew they didn't have time to wait. God only knew what Somers was doing to Robin inside that house. Even if what Kick said was true and backup was on the way, they could arrive too late to do any good. But if Kick was lying and had dialed Somers, Mitch knew he could expect an ambush. Maybe Kick hadn't called anyone. There had been absolutely no sound at the other end of that call that Mitch could hear.

“I'm with you on this,” Kick assured him. “You can trust me, Mitch, I promise. I want to make this right.”

“I don't see any lights,” Mitch said, careful not to question Kick's sincerity out loud. Privately he didn't need to question it. He knew Kick was only humoring him until they got inside that house.

“They'll probably have her around back in the family room. We should walk in from here.” Kick got out of the truck as Mitch eased out the passenger side, keeping his weapon ready.

So Kick knew the place that well, did he? He had obviously been here before in his dealings with Somers.

Mitch's shoulder felt like hell, but he knew he had to do this and do it now. Robin was in there with those bastards, and God only knew what they'd done to her.

“Walk ahead of me,” Mitch ordered. “Unload your weapon first.”

“Trust me,” Kick pleaded. “You're gonna need me in there, and I've gotta be armed.”

“Unload. Now,” Mitch repeated, moving his own weapon for emphasis.

Kick complied. He removed the clip and emptied it onto the ground. Then he led the way down the drive and around to the back of the house.

Mitch kept in step behind him, adrenaline kicking in at last. He knew it was temporary. This had to go down in a hurry.

The blinds were closed, but there were lights on inside. Mitch motioned for Kick to knock. “You try something, you die.”

Kick nodded and rapped twice. “Mr. Somers? It's Taylor.”

The door swung inward and Mitch saw the refrigerator-size Billy Ray step back. Mitch shoved Kick inside and rushed in behind him. “Freeze. Police!” he shouted. “Down! Face down on the floor. Now! Hands out, over your head. Back of the head. Do it!” Reflexes provided the swift intimidation he had learned at the academy and used over the years. The response was only partial. Somers refused to lie down and Mitch knew he couldn't force it.

The tableau in Somers's den was pretty much what he'd expected. The boss man himself had been standing in front of the straight chair where Robin sat. The roll of duct tape lay at her feet.

Somers had moved back and put his hands on his head, but was still standing. Billy Ray and the other goon—now spread-eagle on the floor—had been hanging around, enjoying the show, probably waiting to dispose of the body once Somers got what he wanted.

“Are you all right?” Mitch asked Robin, frowning at the swelling he noted on one side of her face, the trickle of blood from her nose.

She nodded, her breath rushing out with relief as he watched. The blindfold she wore drooped slightly over one eye. Mitch fought the urge to shoot Somers where he stood.

The hulk who had opened the door was looking up at his boss for instructions. Kick had grasped the back of a club chair to keep from falling when Mitch had shoved him inside. Now he straightened. “Want me to get their weapons?”

Mitch nodded. “Use two fingers. Left hand. Toss them over here on this chair. Don't try me, Kick. I'm not in the mood to be lenient.” He watched the disarming without blinking. “Now down on your knees. Crawl over here and cut her loose. He had spied a pair of nail clippers lying in the ashtray on the end table a couple of feet away. He scooped them out and tossed them in Kick's direction. “Use those to cut the tape. Make one wrong move and you die.”

He kept his weapon trained on Kick while he freed her. “Now back off. Get over there by Somers.

“Robin, call the police. Get me some backup,” Mitch told her. He heard her pick up the phone and listened to the beeps as she dialed 911.

Her voice was a little shaky, but determined. “This is Robin Andrews. I was kidnapped and Detective Mitch Winton has rescued me. He needs police backup at the home of Rake Somers… I don't know the exact address. Look it up!”

“Willow Road,” Mitch supplied.

“On Willow Road,” she repeated. “And send medical help. He's been shot… Yes, he's conscious and holding the kidnappers at gunpoint. Hurry,” she demanded, her voice much stronger now. “And don't forget the ambulance.” There was a short silence. “No, I can't stay on the line and talk… Yes, I will do that.”

Mitch heard her put the phone down on the table and, in his peripheral vision, noticed that she moved closer to him. “Get one of their weapons out of the chair,” he told her. “Flick off the safety. Shoot if they move. Squeeze the trigger, don't pull. Fire and keep firing. Aim for the body. Head's too small. Got it?”

“I can shoot. I won't miss,” she replied, her words emphatic and almost menacing. “Aim for the body,” she repeated. Acting again, he thought, bless her heart. He saw by her grip that she'd never held a gun with the intention of firing it. He also had no doubt she would fire it now if necessary.

Mitch waited until he saw she had things covered. Then he closed his eyes for a few seconds and leaned against the club chair. He knew he was about to go down. A few more minutes, he prayed. Just until backup got here. He couldn't leave her to do this by herself. He opened his eyes. The room wavered.

“Steady now,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “A little while longer. You okay, hon? They hurt you bad?”

“I'm fine, Mitch,” she said, sounding breathless. “Don't worry.
Don't fall!
” Her last two words were almost a whisper, a frantic warning.

Mitch braced himself and forced his eyes open again. The few moments of rest hadn't helped, had only made things worse. He had to remain as alert as possible. Reduce the risk to Robin. That was when he realized that the perps were still unsecured. God, he was further out of it than he realized.

He edged toward the chair where Robin had been sitting. “Take this,” he told Kick as he booted the roll of tape toward him. “Tape their wrists. Then pitch your keys over there and cuff yourself.”

Kick coughed with disbelief. “Hey, man, I told you I was with you on this! Why are you treating me like one of
them?
”

“I told you I'd do what I can for you,” Mitch said. “And I will, as long as you keep cooperating. But you never called this in, Kick. If you had, there'd be some cruisers out here by now.”

Kick had picked up the duct tape and bound one of the bodyguards. Then he crouched over Billy Ray to tape his
hands behind him. Suddenly Kick brandished an automatic. Billy Ray must have had it tucked in the back of his belt.

“Robin, drop!” Mitch shouted as he dived and landed on his right side. A bullet ripped into the carpet inches from his head. He rolled to his back and squeezed off a round, but Kick had moved.

Somers and Billy Ray both scrambled for the chair where one of the weapons still lay. Robin fired in their direction. Glass shattered in the bookcases behind them as the automatic belched fire repeatedly.

Somers toppled, but Billy Ray lunged for her from a kneeling position. Mitch sank three rounds into his chest. The ape crumpled to the floor.

Kick aimed then, but Mitch couldn't respond. His entire arm and hand felt like dead weight. The bullet thunked into Mitch's chest even as he made a belated attempt to roll and evade. He felt the entry a millisecond before he heard the shot. Paralyzed, he saw Kick's finger tighten again and heard an empty click.

He also saw blue lights flashing through the open doorway, heard the squeal of tires and then the thunder of footsteps.